A Leg Up
by ZeDancingHobbit
Summary: Rarely has he felt this kind of pain. The kind where his very cells cry out for him to "STOP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD OH JESUS CHRIST THE PAIN". The kind where all he wants to do is lay down and cry but it hurts to even do that. The kind where he'd just like to die, please and thank you, if it's not too much to ask, universe. One-shot. Complete. Tiny bit of mild language.


**Just a little one shot my brain cooked up. I hope you like it!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own the show not, therefore sue me not. **

He groans, pain shooting its way up his leg. "Ow, ow ow ow ow ow," he whimpers, shifting slightly to left. The fire is too great, and he is forced to revert to his former position. Agh, rarely has he felt this kind of pain. The kind where his very cells cry out for him to "STOP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD OH JESUS CHRIST THE PAIN". The kind where all he wants to do is lay down and cry but it hurts to even do that. The kind where he'd just like to die, please and thank you, if it's not too much to ask, universe.

His eyes are squeezed shut. He tries not to focus on it, but it's too much. So, instead, he tries to focus on it, overloading his nerves in the fruitless attempt that maybe his body will think it's too great to be real. Reverse psychology, if you will. That doesn't work either.

What has he done to deserve this torture? Okay, so he got a little sloppy. He got a little tired. A little careless. So he let his guard down. But did that really merit taking away one of his best attributes? He needed his legs, he needed them dammit! But at the moment, it felt like they were about to fall off.

A strained whimper fell out of his mouth. There was no pity. No sympathy. The world was cold and dark. He felt like he was going to die in a pained, tiny ball on the ground. Well. He would if he could MOVE HIS LEGS BODY HELLO.

He couldn't do this. There just wasn't any point. Best to let the injury run its course. So he'd be gone. So what. Lassiter would finally feel the remorse Shawn was due in his fat, cold heart of spongy stone. Karen would wish, "Oh, that we had Spencer again. His brains were unlike any other, not to mention his dashing good looks. Weep, mourn for our loss!" His father would go over past memories fondly, and realize he really should have let Shawn wear the Knight Rider shirt for picture day. Jules would lean over his casket with a mournful sigh, and as a single, lonely tear fell from her eye, she would whisper, "You were the best of them all." And his good ole' buddy Gus, Magic Head Gus would cry for a while. Sobbing, really, until his chocolatey skin was covered in tear tracks and the jerky he ate in honor of his heroic best friend.

Ah, speak of the devil. Shawn lifts his tremulous gaze, and his sight traveles from the floor up to a pair of spotless loafers, to brown pants, a purple shirt with a brown suit jacket, a (perfectly hideous, really) tie, and all the way up to his unamused, delicious head. His arms are crossed, his stance in "Sassy-gay-friend" stance (though, judging by the sounds he's heard coming from Gus's bedroom sometimes, the man is definitely not gay).

Shawn reaches a trembling hand towards his friend. "Gus-buddy-" he gave a strangled plea- "help!"

Gus purses his lips. "It's your own damn fault, Shawn."

Shawn giveas a weak sob and falls onto his back, fiery pain wreaking havoc in his lower section. "Please, Gus," he cries pitifully, "it burns!"

Gus rolls his eyes and steps closer. "I can't help you. You know that, right?"

Shawn rocks his head back and forth, the pain becoming unbearable as he tries to shift his damaged legs. "Please, please, please…"

"Shawn, no-one in their right mind sits down for a 12 hour Smallville marathon. And they don't do it sitting criss-cross-applesauce, either!"

"I'm sorry," Shawn croaked. "I should've invited you. And let you have some of the pineapple frozen yogurt. And I shouldn't have eaten your jerk chicken lunch with the weird Tasmanian yogurt."

"Greek yogurt, Shawn."

"I've heard it both ways."

"Wait, you ate my lunch?!" Gus barks. "That's cold, man."

"I was hungry!" Shawn whines. "But pleeeeease, Gus, it burns! Agh, the pins and needles!"

Gus sucks his teeth angrily, but crouches down by his pathetic friend. Gripping him under the shoulders, he states, "Let's get your legs moving so the blood'll start flowing again." He gives a long grunt through his teeth as he lifts his out-of-shape, slightly chubby friend from the floor. He sags within seconds, and snaps, "Don't you go boneless on me, Shawn!"

"MY LEGS HAVE NO BONES!" screeches Shawn, writhing as his aching legs are made to move.

As they continue out of the room, Gus struggling to drag the helpless Shawn along the floor and to a standing position, he continues to berate his hapless buddy mercilessly, eventually falling back to his old, trusty, greatest threat.

"Make no mistake, Shawn, I will kill you!"

There is a distinct possibility the threat will make itself reality before the day is out.

**So there you have it. Just a silly little thing. Like it? Hate it? Please drop me a review to tell me. Reviews are healing for Shawn's poor legs. **


End file.
